


The Forest Beckons

by Belbe



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Care, F/M, Forests, Godling, Grandmother - Freeform, Hunt, Leshens (The Witcher), Magic, Monsters, Multi, Noonwraith, Nurturing, Other, Swordfighting, Swords & Sorcery, Wisdom, Witcher Contracts, Wolves, drowner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belbe/pseuds/Belbe
Summary: The story takes place in the southeast of Velen. There's a village, Stonebrook, surrounded by wheat and hop fields, with a forest about 2 miles away. There’s a lake a daytime’s travel by foot away, so sometimes people head out to fish and smoke their catch.Our protagonist is less fearful than most villagers thanks to her grandmother, who tells stories about friendly monsters and kind witchers...
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Original Female Character(s), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Other(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since you could remember, the townsfolk of Stonebrook had been telling stories among each other about the cruelties and horrors of the world. 

_“_ _Stay away from the stream where dark shadows flicker under the surface, or drowners will pull you to your death. Don't head too deep in the woods. Between bark and hills is where wolves howl and bare their fangs, hungry for your blood. The fluttering of leaves could mean a certain death for those careless enough to venture too close. Stay in the fields, but pray the noonwraiths will give your wheat a wide berth.”_

Your grandmother would tend to you on dark evenings, braiding your hair at the fireplace, singing with her worn down voice while her apt fingers wove colorful ribbons and fragrant flowers through your locks. She, too, had stories to tell, but of a different kind. Those stories were your favorites. 

_"Come to nana, child, and I'll tell you the story of how I had the strangest encounter one day…"_

You would tuck your ragged dress under your legs and settle between her knees, waiting for her crooked fingers to stroke your hair. Her voice would sound younger, losing some of the weariness that came with being old and plagued with pains, and her grey eyes would get a faraway look while she reminisced of days long gone. 

_"The creature was blue, as blue as the clay from down the river, with eyes like a frog, my child. And yet it looked human, but too old for how small it was. And it talked, lords, it talked, not even with a mouthful of food it would quieten! One day we were playing in the swamp..."_

Grandmother was the only one in the village who did not fear every monster, and who had the good fortune to have met a few of the friendlier ones. Mother and father scoffed at the stories, but you found yourself enthralled, listening quietly to Nana while the only sound that accompanied her was the creaking of her chair and the sharp crackling of firewood. 

Your most vivid memory of her was when one day, a being from legends passed through the village. Your first heard the hooves, then the surprised shouts of the townsfolk. When you headed outside, curious to see who passed by, your father tried to hold you back.  
But it was Nana who beckoned you, proudly standing upright, looking ahead. A few paces away stood a burly man, talking with the anxious elders in a rough voice, asking for directions. Next to him was a pale horse, but its coat wasn’t nearly as pale as the man’s own hair, which was shaven at the sides and braided on top of his head. Two huge swords adorned his back, and a heavy crossbow hung from the dirty saddle of his steed.

You tugged at Nana's skirt, and she smiled down at you, explaining with a calm voice that this man was a Witcher, from the stories she told you. Wide-eyed you watched him go, mounting his horse and steering it through the village while the farmers cowered and whispered among themselves. Only Nana stayed where she was, her old back straight as a tree’s, pride and joy on her face while she nodded in respect to the Witcher as he passed them. And, barely visible, the Witcher’s mouth tugged when he turned his head to Nana. He nodded back, his gaze shortly flickering to you, with intimidating and scary cat-like eyes. Then he was gone, the beats of the horse’s hooves dying off in the distance, and the farmers returned to the fields, whispering among themselves with relieved voices. 

It was years later that Nana’s light ceased, her hand shaking while her labored breath became thinner, her weariness making place for languor. On her deathbed, she talked mostly nonsense, odd words and names that had no meaning. Only when you held her hand, she became more lucid, mumbling about strange creatures from her past. She died in her sleep, at peace with her life, the colorful charm you made her clasped between her gnarled fingers.  
You didn’t cry for her until the first rain came that autumn, when you were remembered how her arthritic joints hurt when it became colder, and you realized you would never hear her complain about the pain again. Her grave was always adorned with trinkets you brought back from the fields, and you started telling the moist earth stories of things you had seen and encountered. 

Years passed, and you heeded the wisdom that your grandmother had shared with you. Merchants passed through the village, and often, you could convince your parents to let them stay at your house. In return, they would share news from far away, of the war that had, for some unknown reason, had always miraculously passed your little village by.  
As Nana had done, you coaxed the merchants into letting you read their books, if they carried any, or prodded them into sharing what they knew about herbs, about the bigger cities, about anything interesting that they were willing to share. And as you grew, you learned.  
Next to farming, you helped the smith from time to time, as you had a knack for leather processing and figuring out simple solutions for seemingly complicated problems. You figured out a way to redirect a nearby stream closer to the village, and won some of the elder’s respect that way.  
Life was hard, but rewarding, and at the end of the day, you had food on the table and a roof over your head. With the war far away and a good summer behind you, the coming autumn and winter looked comfortable. Until one day…


	2. Chapter 2

It started with a change in the air. People were starting to watch their backs more, staring at the border of the forest as if any moment a specter with outstretched claws could fly at them. Even though the rains had set in, it wasn’t cold yet, but sometimes you would get goosebumps for reasons you couldn’t explain. 

Then small signs started to appear - oddly formed tree branches, crops that grew in shapes they shouldn’t, and a strange structure with animal skulls and bones appeared next to the river in the forest.    
Lastly, the wolves came. The howls that echoed through the valley at night made it clear enough, but one day Wendelin’s cow was attacked and bled to death shortly after. It had been grazing close to the forest. Before anyone realized what happened, a pack of grey wolves had come running out and jumped on the terrified bovine, which tried to run back to her safe stable. Wendelin had the sense to grab his pitchfork and yell at the predators, calling the other farmers for aid, but it had been too late. For the next few days, the village had fresh meat and many helped Wendelin preserving what he could from his deceased cow, but the mood had become grim. Children were told to stay close to the village. Fires and torches were set up around the border at night. No one ventured out in the fields anymore without a knife or another kind of weapon. 

When Pelagia and Kornelius returned from selling the autumn goods on the Novigrad market, the wolves had been trailing them. With white faces they told how the yellow eyes kept following them, and how the leader of the pack had snarled when Kornelius had stumbled, fangs bared and ready to attack. The elders decided they had enough. The wolves not attacking but coming close and the strange signs meant there was more going on. A notice was posted in the nearby villages, and you took it upon you to ride to Novigrad to post a copy of the notice on the board there. Surely someone in that big city would be greedy, brave or strong enough to come to the help of your village. 

It was when you stayed a day with family on the ride back that you met him.    
As so many autumn days in Velen, it was pleasantly warm and sunny, and you headed out to the nearby field. Your aunt Joanna had asked you to gather her a few things she needed, and you happily complied. It was too dangerous in your home village to walk around unguarded, and while you felt guilty for your temporary freedom, you enjoyed searching the bushes for what you needed nevertheless.    
When your satchel was full, you sank down in the tall grass and rested for a while, letting a few curious bees hum around the honeysuckle blossoms that stuck out of your leather bag. Your eyelids fluttered shut while the sun warmed your skin, and you dozed off until you were woken by a peculiar sound. The clopping of hooves, accompanied by the soft clanging of light armor.    
You rose from the grass, disoriented at first, then saw the source of the noise. A tall man sat on a brown, black-haired horse, calmly riding down the road east. The rider’s long hair was light grey, almost white, and two blades rested on his back. It was too far away to say for sure, but it looked like he was wearing a chain around his neck. 

_ “Witcher,” _ you whispered. 

The man blinked and stared in your direction, only now taking notice of you. He nodded to you when you started to smile at him, unfazed by your presence. His horse kept moving at the same pace while its rider returned his eyes to the road. 

“Wait! Sir, please…!” 

You had moved before you realized it, and were on your feet while shouting at him, satchel hastily swung over your back. The witcher’s hand tugged at the reins, and his steed came to a halt, its small brown ears turning curiously your way. 

“Thank you for waiting,” you panted, catching your breath from your hastened run. 

From closer by, you got a better look at the witcher. He indeed wore a chain around his neck, which bore a crude wolf head amulet. His face was stern, yet accommodating, an amber pair of cat-like eyes looking down on you patiently. 

“It seemed like you had something important to say.” 

The witcher’s voice was gravelly and low, and he sounded older than he looked. Worn out. 

“I have! My village - we could use the help of someone like you. Do you accept work at the moment?”

“I do, but I was actually on my way to someplace in trouble. Saw a notice in Novigrad for Stonebrook-” 

“-about wolves and an appearance in the woods?” you inquired.

“I take it that's your village, then,” the witcher calmly deduced. 

“It is!” 

Luck seemed to be on your side. You hadn’t expected help announcing itself this soon, and especially not in the form of a witcher. A normal soldier might have scoffed at the stories the villagers had to tell, but a professional? Stonebrook seemed as good as saved. 

“My horse is two miles away, can you hurry ahead to the village? There’s haste to be made.”

The witcher shot you a pensive look, then stuck out his hand. 

“Jump on. You can tell me about the appearance in the woods while we travel. It’ll be faster if we go ahead together." 

You barely hesitated and accepted the witcher’s hand, hoisting yourself on the back of the saddle. His grip was stronger than you anticipated and you winced at the strength with which you were pulled upward, satchel and all. 

“C’mon Roach,” the witcher said, and his mare sniffed and started walking, then hasted into a steady gallop. 


End file.
